


Charcoal and Snow

by ChronoXtreme



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Amnesia and Identity Struggles, An unholy amount of in game dialogue, Angst with a Happy Ending, Au Ra Xaela Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Dark Knight Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), F/M, Fantastic Racism, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, It gets heavy but there will be fluff, Non-Explicit Sex, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Sexual Harassment, Slow Burn, Spoilers from 2.4 to present (5.4 for now), Suicidal Thoughts, additional warnings in chapter summaries, longfic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 22:06:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29891226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChronoXtreme/pseuds/ChronoXtreme
Summary: “You should hate me.”It was not a bitter statement, simply a matter of fact. And she was right — Aymericshouldhate her. She was everything Ishgard hated and feared: an Au Ra, a dark knight, an outsider that had blown open the gates of his city and turned their world upside down while upending all their history books.But as he looked at her, his Warrior of Light, he could only smile. “I could never hate you, Shai’yra.”No, he had the opposite malady entirely.
Relationships: Aymeric de Borel/Warrior of Light
Comments: 3
Kudos: 15





	Charcoal and Snow

**Author's Note:**

> Howdy! Thanks for coming by and reading! For those of you who have read my other Wolmeric fic "In the Pauses" THIS is the fic that's based on. I'm in the midst of tidying all this up into something actually readable, but I've got a lot of content prepared and I'm excited to post it. 
> 
> At first, due to how I want to set things up, this will read more as a FFXIV Novelization and less a Wolmeric fic - I'm working on that. But don't worry, the romance will come, I just need to set the stage first. This means a lot of in game dialogue. Sorry. 
> 
> Short bio on my WoL: Demisexual, basically has no memory of anything before the start of 2.0, paladin that started out in Ul'dah (the job will change), and has one brain cell that struggles in social interactions due to amnesia. Expect much awkwardness to ensue.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aymeric and the Warrior of Light walk into the Intercessory.
> 
> It is not a pleasant first meeting.
> 
> CW: None

The journey Aymeric and Lucia took was rather short, all things considered, but each step felt momentous. It was not every day that one met a hero, after all — much less the Warrior of Light.

Lord Haurchefant had greeted them the night before, the warmth of Camp Dragonhead a comforting respite from the ofttimes stifling atmosphere of the Holy See and the Congregation of Our Knights Most Holy. Here, at least, Aymeric found a moment to relax.

Alas, this was not to be a visit for leisure alone. If Estinien’s secret missives and the warnings the Conservatory gave about the dragon star’s ominous signs actually bore fruit, then Ishgard would soon be overwhelmed by a Dravanian onslaught from both sides. A deadly pincer move, one that they could not survive — not without aid. Such aid did not exist within their borders, and thus when the younger lord of Camp Dragonhead had sent letter after letter detailing the accomplishments of one Shai’yra Tarkir, Warrior of Light and Scion of the Seventh Dawn, he had asked for a meeting to be arranged between them as soon as possible.

Now that day had finally come, and he found himself lingering in Lord Haurchefant’s office, warming himself by the fire. Lucia occupied herself by reading missives sent that morning, carefully analyzing the requests the high houses had sent to him. The chronometer ticked slowly on the wall, and he found himself folding his arms in nervous anticipation as he waited.

What sort of warrior was this Shai’yra Tarkir, that she had managed to defeat not just a Garlean legatus, but a series of false gods? And on a regular basis, if the stories were to be believed. Granted, Aymeric knew little of the primal threat — dragonfire would kill him faster than any beast tribe’s summons ever would — but they were no ordinary foes. He had no doubt that those in Eorzea sang her praises in taverns. Already he sensed the stories were passing into exaggeration, the genesis of a myth taking place within his lifetime.

And his task — self imposed though it may be — was to convince her to help his city, which had utterly refused to aid Eorzea in every prior conflict, with naught but a quiet promise in exchange. It did little to give him confidence in his success.

Mayhap it was the stubborn idealist in him, unable to be completely silenced despite the years’ toll on him, that insisted this was his best course of action.

He jumped slightly as the door to office swung open, Haurchefant sauntering in with a grin that could have replaced the sun. “The hero of the hour has arrived!” he crowed, snow following him in a dusty trail as he approached the heart. “Ser Aymeric, your guests await you in the Intercessory.”

Taking in a deep breath, he returned Haurchefant’s smile, though his was far more reserved. “Thank you, my lord.”

“No thanks is needed! Why, I do believe every man should meet a hero in his lifetime — and such a splendid one as she is a rarity indeed!” Haurchefant waited for Lucia to stow away the missives before they left the comfort of the office, stepping out into the chilly courtyard of the camp.

Aymeric’s smile grew; Haurchefant’s excitement could be incorrigible at times. “From the missives you have sent me, I will have to take great care, lest I will be blinded by her radiance and struck dumb by her eloquence.”

Haurchefant laughed, not the least bit of embarrassment in his tone. “I am merely proud of how far she has come,” he said, beaming brightly. “To think that I was there to see a hero in the making — and not just a hero, but one of the kindest souls I have ever met upon Eorzea’s soil.” Aymeric could not help but chuckle as the young Fortemps let loose a dreamstruck sigh. “She truly is wonderful, Ser Aymeric — and I have not the slightest doubt that she will go on and perform still greater miracles.”

“Mayhap the one will do for me,” he said quietly, looking at the door to the Intercessory. After all, what he was about to ask was not like to be received with open arms. It was a poor trade no matter how one looked at it: potentially risk life and limb fighting the Father of Dragons in exchange for a service they were already receiving. Only a fool of a politician would insist on such a lopsided offer. Yet that was all he  _ could _ give.

A fool or a desperate madman. Mayhap he was both.

“I am sure she will accept! As I have said, she is a kind and compassionate woman — if she took her time to save Francel from that blasted false inquisitor, then she will heed your request.” Yet the lord paused, his footsteps crunching to a halt in the snow. “I… I merely ask that you do not stare at her overlong. It discomfits her.”

Aymeric frowned. “Pray tell, why would I?” Was she scarred? Certainly a warrior of her talents would have endured countless dangers. While the Warrior was mighty, she was also mortal — such marks would be expected, if not tragic.

Haurchefant wrung his hands, rolling his lips into his mouth as he hemmed and hawed on his next words. “She is Au Ra,” he finally said, looking at him with a tense stare.

_ Ah. _ Yes, he recalled Haurchefant including that detail in his letters, if only in passing. While he had heard of the Au Ra before — nearly everyone in Ishgard had, following the disastrous first contact with one of their tribes — he had never met one in the flesh. Rumors had described them as loathsome creatures, abominable mixes between Hyur and dragons on the level of heretics. He doubted the veracity of such claims. As he had experienced with Lucia herself, the fears of the public were often greatly exaggerated.

Au Ra were not Dravanians. The Warrior of Light was not his enemy, but his hope for a brighter future — for Ishgard and for the whole of Eorzea. Any hesitance or deep-seated fears would have to be abandoned at the doorstep of the Intercessory.

“You have my word,” he reassured Lord Haurchefant. “I shall not look upon her untowardly, and neither shall Lucia.”

“I have seen Auri before, my lord,” she said calmly. “They are not nearly the frightening monsters those in the Holy See make them out to be.”

Haurchefant relaxed, shoulders slumping. “Ah, of course. Forgive me, Lord Commander, First Commander, for presuming, but I have already had to give out several reprimands. I fear the behavior of my men has not done any favors for Ishgard’s hostile reputation.” 

Aymeric bit back a wince.  _ Another reason for her to not help us. _

But, he supposed, he should not give up now after coming all this way. So, letting Lord Haurchefant lead the way, he and Lucia entered the Intercessory.

The heat from the hearth was a welcome respite from the cold as they ventured inside, finger and eartips stinging from the contrast. He took no moment to savor it, however — his allies-to-be had already arrived, conversing with Haurchefant in hushed tones.

Master Alphinaud Leveilleur was the first he recognized. The boy was short, his growth spurt still beyond him; he remembered offhand that he was naught but sixteen summers old. Yet he bore the lofty title of Commander of the Crystal Braves — a title that he, at the very least, seemed to take seriously. It rather reminded Aymeric of himself in his youth, boldly proclaiming that he would effortlessly change all of Ishgard’s sullied traditions, bringing the light of justice to every shadowed recess of the city.

Years of rumor mongering and struggle had dulled that fire, forcing him to settle for cold reality. He hoped the same would not happen to the boy, even if his attitude bordered on haughtiness instead of idealism.

It would most likely be Master Alphinaud that he would spend his time speaking to; Haurchefant had warned him of his tendency to dominate any conversation he was in. But his eyes naturally sought out the other Scion of the Seventh Dawn, the one that he had specifically asked to attend. It had been a selfish request, but he wanted to see her for himself. 

Warrior of Light. Eikon slayer. Imperial nuisance. And, hopefully, an ally to Ishgard. His eyes slid from Master Leveilleur’s slight frame to the armored woman standing at his side, shield on her back and sword at her side. With a word and gesture from Haurchefant, both Scions looked towards the entrance to the Intercessory.

As the Warrior of Light turned, Aymeric stared, dumbstruck.

White hair, cut shorter than her chin, swayed as she looked up at him. Instantly he noticed the scales, black as obsidian, upon her cheeks. Some crept down the bridge of her nose, others wrapped around her throat — a strange contrast to her warm, tanned skin. Long sinuous horns extended from where her ears should be to behind her head, where silver ornaments of some kind glinted on the tips. Mayhap a type of earring for Auri women? Overlaying both skin and scales was a curious pattern of scarlet paint — like claws extending towards her nose, sharp lines and curves wreathing her eyes and blooming across her cheeks. 

Yet while all of these details vied for his attention, it was her eyes that captivated him.

Large and round, her irises were vividly red, the color of blood — and surrounding them, as if they were small halos, were glowing rings that burned like fire. It was as if someone had laid a garnet atop a bright coal, darkness seeping into light. He had never seen such a thing before.

Those eyes widened, dark lashes fluttering a few times as she stood at the boy’s side. Then came the second shock: she only stood a few ilms taller than Master Leveilleur — indeed, her round face gave her the appearance of innocent youth, though she could be no child.

_ This is the woman who has slayed primals? _

She was… small. The armor she wore gave her bulk, yet he still towered over her. Was this normal for Au Ra? From the rumors he’d heard, their height rivaled the Elezen. And though Haurchefant had the tendency to exaggerate his reports, his other sources had confirmed that the Warrior was every onze the talented fighter that the lord of Camp Dragonhead so revered. Yet the sight of her standing there seemed almost impossible to reconcile with the image he had crafted in his mind.

Any thoughts of frailty or childishness, however, disappeared as she rested her hand on the pommel of her sword, her feet sliding outwards: a battle stance, clear as day if not slight.

_ Ah. _ He had failed to keep his word to Haurchefant; he quickly schooled his face back into neutral pleasantness. It would not do to damage negotiations ere they began. The first task of a politician was to begin with a blank slate, to leave expectations at the door.

“Commander Leveilleur,” he began, offering his hopeful allies a careful smile. “It is both an honor and a pleasure to meet you. I am Aymeric, lord commander of the Temple Knights.”

* * *

The first thing Shai thought when she looked at the lord commander was that he was far too pretty for his own good.

His hooded blue eyes were framed with thick lashes, curly hair carefully set, a bland smile on his full pink lips. She’d never seen an Elezen like him. Most that she’d seen, like Haurchefant, had sharp faces like birds. His was softer. Elegant. Pretty.

And she’d heard the warnings about pretty boys.  _ Be careful with those menfolk. You think they don’t know Nymeia gave them more than their fair share of looks? They do, and they’ll use ‘em to get whatever they want. Gotta keep an eye on them, and not for pleasure neither. _

Momodi was right: the way this Aymeric looked at her like a man eying a prize at a festival, he  _ definitely _ knew he was prettier than most. It set her on edge, her fingers closing around the hilt of her sword.

The second thing she thought when he introduced himself was that his voice was too damn smooth to be real. The vibrations felt like silk against her horns, just the slightest rasp on the deep tones. She had the feeling most women — and not a few men — would fawn over that alone, though the tall lady at his side that she guessed was his second officer seemed unaffected. Maybe long time exposure sapped away the charm.

Either way, hearing Alphinaud’s voice crack as he introduced himself nearly made her laugh at the contrast.

“Alphinaud Leveilleur, at your service. Your reputation precedes you, Ser Aymeric,” he said. “I think we will find that we have much in common.”

Ser Aymeric nodded — then he looked at her again, and she tensed. “Speaking of reputations, yours towers over us all,” he noted, giving her a warm smile. “Does it not?”

“It does indeed, Lord Commander,” the woman at his side said flatly — she had to bite back a snigger at how annoyed she looked.

“I am not too proud to admit that I have followed your exploits with an interest bordering on fascination,” Ser Aymeric continued. 

_ Danger.  _ Her grasp tightened around her sword hilt; a man like him being  _ fascinated _ with her made her self preservation instincts kick in. The last thing she wanted was to get entangled in some political gambit, become a plaything in some scheme. Alphinaud could handle that — she definitely couldn’t. “Full glad was I to learn that you would be joining us, Sh…” She blinked as his voice trailed off. “Forgive me. I have not heard your name, only seen it on written reports. It would be uncouth to pronounce it incorrectly.”

It made sense. Most Eorzeans didn’t know how to pronounce Xaela names. This was just one of the few times someone had actually asked her. “Just think ‘shy ears,’” she said, gesturing to her horns. “Because, I, uh…” She scratched her neck furtively. “I don’t have ears. Er, you can’t see them. So they’re shy.”

Dear gods, she had actually said that to a politician’s face.  _ This  _ was why she let Alphinuad do the talking. Less of a chance for stupid things to come out of his mouth. Letting out a heavy sigh, she waited for the inevitable pitying smile.

Yet Ser Aymeric merely raised an eyebrow. “A good method to remember. Shai’yra Tarkir.” He paused, then nodded. “A strong name. Now then, shall we begin?” He motioned to the large table in the center of the chamber, and they took their places: the lord commander in the tall throne-like chair in the back, Haurchefant at the side, Shai and Alphinaud in the front. She leaned back in the chair, slouching despite how the Elezen in the room held themselves stiff as boards. This was going to be a long, boring meeting. Might as well get comfortable.

Or, well, that was the hope. She should have known that the second Alphinaud popped out of his chair, pacing on the thick wool rug on the floor as he spoke, that this was not going to be a boring meeting. Long. But not boring.

She just didn’t expect them to keep talking in  _ circles. _

“We know full well the Garleans will return in force ere long,” Alphinaud said, pacing with his hands behind his back. “What is more, we have yet to achieve a lasting victory over the primal menace. The beast tribes continue to summon their gods, and each incarnation is stronger than the last. Ishgard is not immune to these threats. I must reiterate that it would behoove your nation to join the Eorzean Alliance.”

Ser Aymeric’s face was frustratingly blank. Twelve, she hated the mask politicians wore; she’d seen so much of it by now with the Monetarists in Ul’dah that it set her on edge. “Once again, I must respectfully disagree,” he replied, tone as neutral as his face.

“On what grounds?” Alphinaud snapped.

“Despite their presence in Coerthas, the Ixal do not concern us. Their territorial claims pertain to Gridanian lands, and it is the people of Gridania whom they harry. Consequently, the Holy See judges this to be a Gridanian affair, and Ishgard does not intervene in the internal affairs of other nations.”

It felt almost insulting, the way the lord commander spoke: slow and measured and overly patient, like he was lecturing a child. She felt a little bad for Alphinuad, watching as his cheeks grew pink and his hands curled into fists. It wasn’t every day that people actually treated him like the kid he was.

“Even if that were not the case, our forces are wholly committed to the Dravanian conflict. We have not the knights to spare.” Ser Aymeric’s words weighed heavy on that last bit; she blinked as something flashed in his eyes that she couldn’t catch. “As for the Garleans, we are not ignorant of history. We have observed the rise and expansion of the Empire, and we agree that it is only a matter of time before they resume their campaign in Eorzea.”

“Then surely it would be in our best interests to present a united front?” Alphinaud’s voice practically seethed with exasperation.

“Mayhap one day, but  _ not yet,” _ Aymeric replied; apparently his patience was starting to wear thin too. “Gaius van Baelsar is dead, and the legion of conscripts he left behind lacks the will to fight. We think it highly unlikely that they will emerge from behind the walls of their castra for some time.”

“Forgive me, but if Ishgard’s position has not changed, why did you agree to this meeting?” Alphinaud looked about two seconds away from bursting a blood vessel. She smiled faintly, despite how repetitive the conversation was — he’d looked much the same when they had first come to Coerthas to find the Enterprise.  _ I guess nothing gets quite on your nerves like your own people annoying you. _

For a long moment, the two Elezen stared at each other, and her smile faded; it felt like she was between two wolves, one snarling, the other waiting to pounce for the kill. Ser Aymeric said nothing, his face cool while Alphinaud’s eyes shot daggers into him. 

Then, oddly enough, the lord commander leaned back in his chair, slumping a bit. It was something she’d never seen a politician do before; her eyes widened at the sight. “It was not only as a representative of Ishgard that I came here,” he said quietly.

Shai stared in confused silence, her fingers curled on her thighs. “Pardon?” Alphinaud asked.

“It is not within my power to change Ishgardian policy, regardless of my personal feelings. There is, however, one area in which I may exert a measure of influence. Concerns have been raised over the supplies House Fortemps has offered to Revenant’s Toll. These have led to calls for restrictions on the provision of aid to foreign powers.” She stiffened as a smile turned up Ser Aymeric’s lips. “I can ensure that the shipments continue unabated.”

Maybe it was that advice Momodi had given her when she’d first made her way to the Quicksand. Maybe it was the fancy talk he’d used before and the condescending way he spoke with Alphinaud. Or maybe it was the strange glint in his eye. But Shai did not trust that smile. Not at all.

_ What are you  _ really _ saying? _

“Ser Aymeric, we would be in your debt!” Haurchefant exclaimed; she bit back a wince.  _ Haurche, I don’t— _

“No, you would not,” Aymeric said bluntly. “For I would require something in exchange.”

And there it was. The other shoe dropping. Starting in Ul’dah had taught her that nothing in this world came for free. People were kind and people were good, but when it came to meetings and politics, there was no such thing as no strings attached. At least he was blunt about it. 

Hopefully this string wouldn’t strangle them.

The lord commander straightened up once more — now was the time for business, she supposed. “Of late, there has been a flurry of Dravanian activity, the purpose of which was not immediately clear.” His voice was grave; her fingers relaxed from their clenched fists as he spoke. “However, our astrologians have since observed alarming changes in the heavens. The dragon star waxes unnaturally bright, and there are whispers that it portends the resurrection of Midgardsormr.”

She blinked. “You mean the dragon?”

Every eye felt like a burning hot needle as they stared at her, and she cringed. Right. No talking for her in meetings like this. 

Yet while the tall woman standing beside Ser Aymeric’s chair gave her a stink eye that could have felled a morbol, the lord commander himself merely nodded. “Just so,” he murmured. That was a surprise; she’d expected some of that patronizing tone he’d used with Alphinaud to be directed at her.

“The fallen guardian of Silvertear Falls? That’s absurd!” Alphinaud said. 

“Mayhap it is. Yet full many times have I gazed upon the dragon’s corpse, still wound around the  _ Agrius, _ and wondered how different our world might be if it yet lived to plague the skies.” His eyes narrowed. “I do not know — and I do not wish to know, nor does any son of Ishgard. Yet the mere presence of Dravanian forces is not sufficient grounds to send knights to Mor Dhona, whatever our astrologians say. As I told you before, we have not the forces to spare.”

“...But we do.” Alphinaud folded his arms. “So you will intervene on our behalf if we agree to watch over the Keeper of the Lake.” 

“Do you accept these terms?” Ser Aymeric asked.

Shai raised an eyebrow. She’d seen Midgardsormr’s corpse out in the middle of Silvertear Lake — the dragon dwarfed regular Garlean airships. Supplies to Revenant’s Toll was all well and good, but if the astrologians were right and if Midgardsormr actually somehow came back from the dead… She’d struggled fighting the Ultima Weapon, for the Twelve’s sake. How was she supposed to fight a dragon that big if it woke up?

But that was a big “if.” She’d never heard of anything coming back from the dead before, and Midgardsormr had died fifteen years ago. Maybe it was just a false alarum or something. Ser Aymeric looked concerned, and he wouldn’t have hauled himself out of Ishgard for nothing, but…

It appeared Alphinaud wasn’t going to ask for her opinion anyhow. “I accept,” he said slowly, unfolding his arms. “I will see that you are kept abreast of any developments.” The lord commander’s lips twitched a bit at the sentence, and she had to bite back her own chuckle. Alphinaud always sounded so stuffy when he was in his Commander of the Crystal Braves mode. “I regret that we could not come to a similar agreement on other matters, but I understand that you are not at liberty to make such decisions. Nevertheless, I hope that what we have accomplished here today will serve to demonstrate to your countrymen that we can work together towards a common goal. Mayhap one day we shall look back on this moment as the first step towards a united Eorzea.”

“Mayhap we shall, Commander,” Aymeric said smoothly, his lips in a full blown smile now. She couldn’t tell if it was genuine or if he was simply taking a bit too much humor in how fancy Alphinaud was talking. 

The smiles all disappeared when a knight burst into the room, shouting about how a caravan had been attacked by Iceheart’s followers. 

Sighing as she got up from her chair, Shai followed Alphinaud outside, listening to him grumble about how the timing was all wrong and damn the gods for ruining their talk, but her mind was elsewhere.

_ What is he really after? Supplies for Revenant’s Toll so we can babysit a dead dragon? _ Better to be safe than sorry, sure, but… Everything had felt so  _ strange  _ in there.

The lord commander baffled her. Why did he invite her to this meeting in the first place when she hadn’t spoken more than a handful of sentences? Alphinaud was more up his alley, able to keep up with his politics and smooth talking — but he had said he was interested in  _ her. _

Interested  _ how _ was the question.

Her stomach knotted as she followed Alphinaud into Haurchefant’s office, her fingers gripping the hilt of her sword. It was clear that Ser Aymeric was willing to use the Scions for Ishgard’s defense — though at least he was offering something in exchange, even if it was small. The interest he held in her was most likely as a weapon, an asset to be used, like the Monetarists in Ul’dah. That only made the knots worse. 

She was fine being a weapon. It wasn’t her place to plan and scheme and politick. Give her a sword, tell her who or what to use it on, that was her way. That was how she served Eorzea. But she needed to trust the person who was guiding her.

And the fact that Ser Aymeric was blatantly using them meant that he couldn’t be trusted.

Letting out a heavy sigh, she folded her arms against the cold, following Alphinaud out into the snow.  _ Twelve, just let this all blow over soon.  _ Then maybe he could go back to his city and leave her out of his scheming. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rewatching this cutscene for the dialogue, I honestly could not stop laughing at a. How overly patient Aymeric sounds and b. how strongly the game is trying to make him look shady af. I really do think they were trying to make him a red herring for what goes down in 2.55, but it's honestly funny looking at him being all Cunning Politician Man when he's actually a big ol' goober beneath it all.
> 
> Shai'yra's name is pronounced shy.ear.uh, by the way. Apologies, it's a weird spelling, I know. (Yes there is an explanation for it. Yes, it's very silly.)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! If you don't mind, pop a kudos and a comment down below - they're better than getting commends as a DPS! 
> 
> While my brain doesn't exactly work well with consistent update schedules I hope to be able to keep writing about these two dorks. I hope you enjoy the content thus far, and I'm excited to make more for the days to come! Have a wonderful day!


End file.
